Beauty Pain Epilogue
by Ephemera
Summary: A tag to Beauty Pain, Spike's POV on events that weekend. Slash. [complete]


Title: Beauty, Pain. Epilogue Author: Ephemera Email : AN1@starmail.com Pairing: S/X Rating: PG-13 Disclaimer: Not mine. Joss Whedon and various big companies made and own them - I'm just playing. Feedback: Please! All flavours greatly appreciated. A/N: My first challenge fic. Set somewhere in Season Four, playing fast and loose with the timeline.  
  
For Benaresq, with grateful thanks for the rest of the Hive Brain.  
  
"Pain is beauty, beauty, pain"  
  
*****  
  
Well, it's not what I'd ever imagined myself doing, but compared to the last couple of months this is actually pretty damn good. The buzz from the crowd at the gig is lasting longer than the borrowed warmth of it, and finally getting to lay hands on this one's something of a hit too. He's bulked up nicely with the new job - and the California sun's good for something, if only for the honey cream tan of his skin. Which is the only reason I'm cleaning him up, you know - to get to more of that warm skin. Couldn't care less if he wakes up cold and crusty, except he'll only whine about it. In fact, you could even say I was doing the good white-hat thing, stripping him down and making sure I warm the wash cloth before I use it. 'Course you'd be wrong - kid had me so wound up I never got as far as getting him naked before I blew his mind, and shit if he isn't the sexiest thing all broken open like that. All those worries and insecurities just spilling out of him along with the heat and the come. Common sense tells me this is all I'm going to get though - for all he seemed so eager tonight I couldn't imagine him taking his latest role back to the homestead with him. I'll be doing well if he doesn't abandon me to try my chip-cursed luck here when he wakes up.  
  
So, making the most of what I'm going to get, with him passed out, exhausted and dead to the world. Didn't even stir when I had to roll him over to peel those trousers off, just rolled back over onto his front while I was cleaning myself up. Good job Lizzie picked up some new gear for me while she was shopping all things considered. This weekend was too good an opportunity to miss - chance to get out of town, do something that I might be able to recognize as my sort of thing, and get the boy away from his friends and that bleeding ex-demon bint, shake him up a bit. And oh boy did that work out well - 'course the gig'd have been more fun if I'd been able to pick up a snack in the moshpit, but given the circumstances, not too shabby at all. If I can't have blood, may as well get my jollies any way I can find 'em, and this one begging me for more is pretty sweet.  
  
I think it's the eyes - he always looks like he's expecting to get hurt, and I'm pretty much happy to oblige. Can't really hurt him of course - damned chip - but mess with his head, make him wonder what he is? - well, that passes the time more or less. And it certainly beats sitting in that shitty basement.  
  
Think the nipple rings were a good plan - wasn't sure if he'd go along that far - but you've got to get the blood to the surface somehow. Could almost drink it right through the skin, they were so hot - throbbing and bruised and pinched like that. And shit but the makeup was a nice touch - makes him look just fuckable - big bruised eyes and bloodied lips, and the taste and the smear of it under my mouth - fuckable. Damnshitfuckingbloodychip! If it weren't for the sodding Initiative I could be fucking that mouth bloody for real. Well, probably not his - wouldn't trust him not to bite, but shit this is frustrating!  
  
Concentrate on what you do have - yeah, I know - having him real and hot and pulsing under my hands is better than plain fantasy any day, and so what if I'm tracing those broad shoulders imaging what they'd look like with bloodied stripes. Pushing down into his waist I'm wondering if he'd wake up if I started biting my way along his spine there, tracing down into that arse of his, drawing fangs over that pale sensitive flesh and tonguing him till he was begging me to fuck him. Which is just never going to happen - not worth the risk - one inch to close to that cherry arse and he'll find a way to stake me using hotel notepaper or something.  
  
I swear, I'm just trying to distract myself from anything that's going to get me dusted - need to stick out this nightmare with the Slayer and co if I'm going to get this thing out of my head, so I'll not push too far past the boundaries. Not this time. And it's not like either of us has any other use for the stupid lipstick, so I may as well be using it to trace lines across that back - stripes first, imagining the crack of a whip coming down, and real blood instead of paint. And then words - The swell of that bum is just asking to be spanked, so that gets labeled appropriately - Spank Me in nice clear script across the top. And then there's those vertebrae to circle - pity it can't be a real chain. There's a clear patch on the far shoulder, where he's got his arm up over his head. Time to sign my work, I think, with a good flourish to it. 


End file.
